


Key Lime

by BlindSwandive



Series: Masquerade fills [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Loves Pie, Feeder/Eater, Food Kink, Hedonism, Key Lime Pie is Sexy, M/M, Sam Winchester has Food Issues, Sexy guilt, Whipped Cream, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/pseuds/BlindSwandive
Summary: An accidental night stuck in a freezer reveals a new dynamic to the Sam/Dean/pie relationship.  Or: key lime pie is surprisingly sexy.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Masquerade fills [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1280822
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020





	Key Lime

**Author's Note:**

> For rozearkana's yummy Spn-Masquerade prompt: "Sam and Dean are accidentally locked inside a restaurant’s walk-in refrigerator during a hunt. Turns out one of them has a secret food fetish, and nothing but time to kill until someone shows up to let them out in the morning." I went with a sort of blend of hedonism and feederism.
> 
> Warning: There are gently implied body/food issues for Sam here and a skosh of kink-shaming quickly resolved.

"Key lime, 'ammy," Dean said, through a mouthful of it. He waved a bite balanced at the end of his knife temptingly.

Sam rolled his eyes and rubbed his arms to keep warm. "No thanks, Dean. I'd rather not consume a thousand calories of high-fructose corn syrup out of boredom."

Dean scoffed. "Not high-fooctose, ih's sweeten' conden' milk. 'Cause s'what they cou' ge' ou' on th'Keys. No fesh milk."

Sam frowned. "...Why do you even know that?"

"Foo' Network." Dean shoveled down another mouthful.

"Of course." Sam looked at the ceiling. "Still, no thanks."

Dean swallowed, and took a different tack: teasing. "What, you worried about your girlish figure?"

Sam snorted. " _You_ should be worried about your cholesterol."

"I knew it. You want to stay all thin and pretty and you're worried if you indulge in the glory that is pie you'll get pudgy. Come on, admit it," he ribbed.

"You are an idiot," Sam said, but little blotches of color had risen on his cheek and nose that didn't have anything to do with the chill of the freezer.

"You'd still be cute with a little pudge belly," Dean said, hiding a grin in another knife full.

"Thanks," Sam said wryly, rolling his eyes again.

Dean chewed thoughtfully, this time, and when he'd finished, he leveled a long look at Sam. "I mean it, you know."

"Sure," Sam dismissed, looking at the floor now as he stamped his feet for the movement.

"Listen, man," Dean insisted, "I do. You don't have to live like a monk eating rice and berries and shit. Have some pie, once in a while. You might enjoy it."

It was Sam's turn to give Dean a long look. Suspicious. "Why are you so interested in getting me to eat pie? I thought you'd be happy to have it all to yourself."

Dean shrugged, looked away, evasive. "There's like four whole pies here, even I'm not gonna eat that all in one night. Plenty to share."

"Yeah," Sam said slowly, "or you could just leave them for the owners to sell like usual."

Dean snorted. "We came here to fix _their_ problem with a ghost; the least they can do is give us pie."

"After we screwed up and let it lock us inside the freezer like a couple of amateurs, you mean. Yes, clearly we deserve an award for that."

Dean grumbled. "Whatever, man." He stalked to the opposite wall, huddled with the tin. He still shot glances Sam's way every few bites. There was something hungry in his look that no amount of creamy filling and crisp crust seemed to be abating.

After a tense few minutes, Sam finally sighed and shuffled over closer, contrite.

"Fine," he said, indulgent. "Give me a bite."

Dean looked up, wary. "Really?"

"Really. Without too much whipped cream," Sam warned. 

"Idunno, it's the good stuff. Think they whipped it from fresh before they froze it," Dean tempted. "Best part."

Sam sighed, the image of long suffering. "Fine. A little."

Dean swallowed, even though his mouth was empty. Carefully, he cut a bite of pie with his knife--the _perfect_ bite, balanced with tart and sweet and cream and crust--and lifted it from the tin on the tip. There was something tense and eager in his motions as he offered it up to Sam's lips, watched him carefully.

Sam glanced between the bite and Dean's eager face, curious. Dean tried to look away, but didn't manage for long. As soon as Sam's mouth opened, Dean's eyes fixed on it.

Sam closed his mouth over the end of the knife, sliding the bite from it onto his tongue, carefully avoiding the sharp tip and edge. A dot of whipped cream wound up on his lip.

Dean stared while Sam chewed.

It was a heavenly pie. Even still harder frozen than it ought to be, it was velvety, smooth and tart and bright, not too sugared, balanced just right by the cool sweetness of the cream. There were shreds of coconut in the buttery crust that crunched and rounded it out into something complex and lovely.

Dean's lips were parted while he watched Sam's face, Sam's eyes closing in guilty pleasure, the tip of Sam's tongue gathering the cream from his lip.

"Wow," Sam said finally, opening his eyes.

"Right?" Dean said, eagerly. His face was guileless, now, openly hungry. Lusty.

They stared at one another.

"You want to watch me eat!" Sam accused.

"What?" Dean said, shuttering quickly. "No! Weird. I see you eat all the time, it's boring as hell."

"Maybe when I eat 'rabbit food,'" Sam said, providing air quotes. "But something like that." He gestured at the pie, and Dean drew it back instinctively, protective.

"You're crazy," he said, but sometimes Dean was a bad liar.

Sam licked his upper lip slowly to remove the last trace of cream, and Dean's eyes lasered in, rapt.

"There," Sam said, triumphant.

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"Dean, there's nothing wrong with it, but don't try to pretend you aren't interested or I'm not going to play along." Sam had one eyebrow raised and was folding his arms across his chest in defiance, now, rather than just for the warmth. He'd even drawn up to stand straight, a carefully reserved power move.

The battle in Dean was evident. Admitting to a fetish was a threat to his dignity. Failing to meant he couldn't live it out.

As usual, lust beat dignity. Dean liked to live in his hindbrain, in wants and satisfactions.

"Fine. I want to watch you eat. _Good_ stuff," he clarified. "Pie and steak cooked medium-rare and--and like, chocolate-covered strawberries and shit."

"How romantic," Sam said through a straight face.

"Fuck you, man," Dean said hotly, color rising on his neck.

"Sorry," Sam said, one hand going out disarmingly. "Sorry. It's--it's fine. It's good. I can--I think I can do that. Okay?"

A little glint of recognition came into Dean's eye. Sam was as embarrassed to be caught indulging as Dean was to be caught wanting to watch it. It sent a strange pang through him, and he shifted foot to foot, trying to rearrange his jeans. They'd both transgress, for this.

"Come on, Sammy," he said, low. His turn to taunt. "You know you want it, too."

Sam glanced guiltily at the pie. After a long moment, he gave a short, terse nod. He did.

"C'mere," Dean said, half-lidded. He cut another bite from the pie.

Sam shuffled closer, clearly uneasy, nose and cheeks marked bright red with the cold and his flush. He swallowed, too. 

"Open up," Dean said, a little brittle through the nerves, and Sam did, obedient as a little bird. Dean suppressed a groan. "Good boy," he breathed, and they both tensed.

He offered another bite up to Sam's open mouth, tipped it off onto his tongue to see the cream and the pale yellow custard inside his mouth. Sam closed his lips on the knife to scrape the cream and crumbs from the blade as Dean carefully, so carefully drew it out, and now they were so, so close together, barely the breadth of the pie tin between them.

Dean's mouth watered while Sam's worked, slowly indulging. Dean devoured anything that was lush, greasy, hot, rich. Sam worked his tongue through it reverently, like it was pure sin and he'd need to do penance later, but had better make it worth it now.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean breathed, and when Sam swallowed, he barely managed to set the pie aside on a flat surface before closing the distance between their bodies. He dove in to kiss the cream from Sam's lips, taste the lime on his tongue.

Sam surged to meet him, wrapped one large hand around the back of his neck, kissed like it was breath to a drowning man, like he was starved and would swallow Dean whole.

They made out like teenagers until the chill had burned out of their bones, left their skin hot and their groins aching where they ground together through denim.

Sam finally broke them apart, panting. 

"I think," he said, studiously but breathless, "that you should learn how to make Key Lime Pie."

"Yeah," Dean agreed hoarsely, picking the tin and the knife back up from where he'd abandoned them. "Yeah, I think I do."

**Author's Note:**

> And now the author has to go back a key lime pie because whew.


End file.
